


Beauty

by Acesara



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 04:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14926817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acesara/pseuds/Acesara
Summary: When asked to give examples of what he thought was ‘beautiful’, Hanzo Shimada could think of many things.(Summary is purposefully short to not give too much away)---------------This is a gift drabble for all the lovely folks in the discord I just joined, hope you enjoy<3





	Beauty

When asked to give examples of what he thought was ‘beautiful’, Hanzo Shimada could think of many things.

 

His earliest association of beauty, with anything, was his mother. Beautiful, in the way her strong, yet soft fingers carded through her long waves of jet black hair with practised ease. Pinning and braiding the sometimes stubborn locks in place with little clips of  jade, and  _ kanzashi _ covered in brilliant little fabric flowers of cerulean and sapphire. He’d watch her almost hypnotic motions in the floor length mirror--her every move made the folds of her teal and white kimono shift this way and that; like the rolling waves of an ocean's tide against the shores of the tatami flooring. How she’d smile down at him through their reflections. She would always stop her own routine to thread a loving hand through his own hair, before raising both arms to sweep him in for the biggest hug she could muster. He was embraced by crashing waves of silk. The kisses on his face were the rainfall that fed the sea itself.

 

He believed there to be beauty in simplicity; whether it be from the satisfaction of solving a simple geometry question in front of his whole class, or from lingering on the walks home from school with Genji; an excuse to feel the warmth of his brothers smaller hand in his,  _ knowing  _ that there was someone Hanzo could and would protect with his life.

 

Circumstances however, shifted Hanzo’s worldview. For a time.

 

He believed there to be beauty in a quick kill. In swift compromises to business deals--and  _ deals _ of all  _ businesses _ . And beauty in even  _ swifter  _ ends to competition, opposition,  _ defiance _ \--

 

And then, much like how currents clash against their shores, whether they be of sand or sandalwood floors, they first muster their gathered strength from retreat and resurge with a vengeance. The tidewaters race to wash over all; seashells, and rocks, and the feet of screaming children. Never questioning what or who receives its embrace.

 

Hanzo considers the hand now linked with his own, leading him up the stairs of a decrepit front porch. With every shift of his weight on the steps, he feels a lingering sense of dread. As if the wood beneath his feet will give way at any moment, swallowing him whole into whatever darkness lies below the floorboards. The hand tugs again and Hanzo only feels compelled to persist.

 

He will try his best to find the beauty in such a place as this.

 

As he crosses the threshold of the old farmhouse, he believes this will be an easy task.

 

Hanzo slowly, softly, unlinks his fingers with that of the other hand, but not before pressing a kiss against their knuckles. He observes with an objective eye what is to be had in the long abandoned ranch house.

 

The thin paper plastering the walls seems to be peeling where it meets the wood paneling of the ceiling and the flooring of red bricking and stucco. What few pictures hang on the walls have yellowed with time, and are protected by thin platings of dust-covered glass and plastic. In fact, every surface visible to the eye seems to be coated in a thin layering of soot.

 

Hanzo frowns as he runs a finger along the length of an old rocking chair. He’s sure the oaken thing must have been beautiful in its time. When it not stand abandoned in a corner of the house covered in enough ash to make pen ink out of.

 

He wipes his grayed fingers on his slacks before instantly regretting it.

 

They were nice, damnit; and a rather thoughtful Christmas gift from Genji, too.

 

Any pots that once held plants lay unfilled and wasted. Some cracked beyond repair. Hanzo walks the perimeters of the first floor rooms with his hands clasped behind his back. Inspecting, appraising--no.  _ Searching  _ for the beauty to be had. He tentatively pulls back the folds of some drapery shielding the back windows and peers outside. The fabric is still soft to the touch despite having staled some from years of neglect.

 

The sight takes his breath away.

 

The outlining of the mountains in the distance and the divots of the valley that lie in their foreground are blanketed in a brilliant image of indigo. The peaks of the mountains stretch towards the sky like rounded jaws of amber. They cradle the heavens above colored by hues of yellows, oranges and stark red; only blotted out by clouds of violet and blue. They do nothing to lessen the brilliance of a sun burning itself out to bring the bounty of nightfall.

 

Harsh and hurried steps have Hanzo pulling away from the drapes a little too suddenly.

 

McCree stands in the middle of the room. Red-faced and almost off put looking.

 

_ Embarassed maybe? McCree? _

 

Never. Couldn’t be.

 

“I--uh. Sweetheart, I……Surprise….” He weakly offers.

 

Hanzo only has to look him up and down, a cursory glance, but its enough excuse for McCree to keep talking.

 

“I  _ told  _ you this place wasn’t ready. And I’m sorry for the way it looks now but--I wish you woulda given me more time to straighten things out--”

 

“I wanted to see your home, Jesse. And now I will continue to do so.”

 

“Yea but--”

 

“But what?”

 

McCree gestures frustratedly to his--their--surroundings. He gets closer, his heavy steps, only weighed down more by the boots on his feet, cause some of the older stones to dislodge in place. He almost trips on an uprooted piece of bricking.

  
  


“I had plans for this place, Hanz. Really. But coming back and being here--and havin’ you here.  _ Seeing  _ it the way it is it’s--embarrassing to say the least.”

 

“When we visited Shimada Castle with Genji, ‘n Zen ‘n the others--the whole fuckin’ town was in full bloom. And the town has done nothing but restored and maintained that place to the fullest. It’s a historical fuckin’ site now for Christ’s sake.”

 

A historical site. Hanzo internally rolls his eyes, thinking of the droves of tourists that now prowl the halls of his ancestral homes, taking pictures and posing in front of weaponry that once killed innocent men. Walking the same paths that less than innocent men walked. Strolling through gardens once reserved for the immediate family of the Clan head and their elders, all for the low low price of free.

 

“This place? This is the ass-end of the southwest. I’ve barely had time to make sure the damn house is still standin’ up against the sandstorms, let alone being able to pour money ‘n effort into  _ fixin’  _ it--”

  
  


“Hanamura is goddamn heaven compared to this shithole.” McCree notes, bitterly.

 

Hanzo spares one last glance out the window, before advancing towards his lover. He rests a hand on Jesse’s cheek, before letting it wander to the nape of his neck. His other hand absently rubs comforting swaths up and down the length of Jesse’s arm. The one he still has feeling in.

 

“..........I wanted to show you somethin’ I could be proud of.” Jesse mumbles under his breath.

 

Hanzo considers the man in front of him. No matter how many times he has seen the man, really  _ seen  _ him, there’s always something more to consider. The faint smattering of sunspots on his aquiline nose and high cheekbones. The pronounced waves of russet brown hair, just recently streaked by gray. The thick brows that rest above deep-set, dark eyes that could swallow Hanzo whole; which is a darkness he would be grateful for--

 

His lover's skin is a coppery olive shade which almost seems to glow in the light from the waning sunset at the back window.

 

There’s so much to consider. And all of it is something Hanzo considers beautiful.

 

Hanzo gently presses his lips to Jesse’s. Something his lover doesn’t protest. Before Jesse deepens the kiss, Hanzo grasps his head with both hands, forcing their foreheads together. He makes direct eye contact with this wonderful, caring, thoughtful,  _ beautiful  _ man--

 

“Such beauty is wasted upon the soul of a killer.” Hanzo hears himself whisper.

 

He sees Jesse’s brows crease, he sees the small frown fraying at the edges of his mouth. He keeps talking before Jesse can stop him.

 

“I could not be more proud and honored to be here. To see this place and know that one of the best things in my life came to me from here--I am touched, Jesse.”

 

“It only makes sense that one of the few blessings in my life be from here. Surrounded by nothing but potential…” Hanzo pulls back to nod his head to the room. He smiles to himself as he scans the pots that could soon be filled with dirt, and plants, and  _ life _ . The floors could be scrubbed clean and repaved with grout. Or ripped up altogether and replaced with shores of tatami flooring. Furniture could be replaced, repaired, refurbished to yet again serve in life no matter the form. After all, the rocking chair was made from good quality oak. And Hanzo knows that silk curtains keep their form and color. He thinks drapery of cyan to be satisfactory enough to cradle the crumbling daylight into the slumber of night.

 

“....and beauty.” Hanzo says with a smile.

 

“This alone-- you alone. Are enough for me. I did not think I had to say it.”

 

There’s a slight shudder in Jesse’s shoulders. A redness that faintly rings the ridges of his eyes. Jesse is quick to take Hanzo back into his arms, pressing his face into the crook of the shorter man's neck and shoulder.

 

Hanzo thinks he hears Jesse choke out a muffled ‘asshole…’

 

For the sake beauty in simplicity, he elects to ignore it, and hold onto him tighter.

  
  
  



End file.
